


Source

by Scolethegore



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Extreme Thirst, F/F, Slow Burn, basically one tiny hipsters arduous journey to save the absolute mess that is victoria chase, oh i have plans for this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scolethegore/pseuds/Scolethegore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Source  <strong>sôrs/</strong><br/><em>noun</em></p><p>: Someone or something that provides what is wanted or needed<br/>: The cause of something (such as a problem)</p><p>Max accidentally gets herself roped in with the Vortex club and by association, Victoria. </p><p>or, some kind of weird soulmate au in which the protagonists aren’t really soulmates but end up falling in love anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Source

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be named after a line from Liar by Mumford and Sons if that says anything. I did listen to a lot of What You Know by Two Door Cinema Club while writing this chapter tho and the song definitely serves as a prelude to the entire fic.
> 
> Also I haven't written a proper fanfic in like, over a year, so if there are any mistakes I apologize.
> 
> horizontal lines mean a POV change (the only POV's are Max and Victoria's) and ellipses are scene breaks

You were six years old when the Chase Space first opened.

 

It was around the same time you first realized your parents might not always have enough time for you.

 

It was also around the first time you got your own camera.

 

It’s a little, Hello Kitty instant camera with pink straps on the side that you’d been begging your parents to get you for your birthday since the spring. It ended up becoming a belated birthday gift from your mother but you didn’t mind too much, all that mattered was you could finally take your own _pictures_.

 

You’re buttoning up your red pea coat and putting on your fluffiest mittens when you hear her call your name from the car. She’s supposed to drive you to see the new gallery because your father had been too busy actually being there to remember he had a kid waiting at home.

 

Or at least, that’s what the housekeepers say when they think you’ve fallen asleep for your afternoon nap. You don’t think you like them very much.

 

You make sure to grab your new camera before you run out onto the snowy walkway and towards your mother’s honking Mercedes.

 

She ruffles your hair when you climb in and smiles when she sees you clutching the camera. It makes you feel like the most important girl in the world.

 

“Ready to see some funky looking pictures?” she asks and you scrunch up your nose a bit at the word choice.

 

“They’re not funky!” You protest and she lets out a little laugh as she starts to back up out of the driveway.

 

“Well now, I don’t know about that Tori, they looked a little funky to me.” she turns up the heater and swerves onto the road. You like it when she drives you, she never goes too slow and the fast movement of the car always gets you excited for wherever you’re going.

 

“That’s because you don’t understand the art of photography.” You say, stumbling your words a bit at the end of your sentence and mispronouncing photography so it sounds more like ‘photoegratphery’ than anything else. But you're six years old and oblivious to so much, so you grin at how grown up you sound when the words leave your mouth.

 

She doesn’t miss your smug expression and you don’t miss her seeing it either.

 

“Maybe not,” she shrugs, “but I’m pretty sure your photos could wipe the floor with all those old ones at the gallery.”

 

Your heart swells with pride and you remember why you like your mother so much, even if she isn’t always around.

 

_Yeah, maybe they could._

 

...

 

There’s a polaroid in the gallery with woman lying on a bed with a propped up arm and a pursed expression. There are no soulmate words on her arms.

 

You tilt up your head and stand on your toes to get a good look at the sign to the right of the photo.

 

_‘Maripol. 1978’_

 

All of her photos are pictures of herself, something about that makes you inexplicitly angry.

 

You don’t think you like her very much. You turn away and try to find something else to look at.

 

The entire place is beaming and it’s a bit hard to navigate yourself among the sea of people without someone to guide you. Your mother went to find your father a while ago and left you by the refreshment table so in turn, you left to wander. These gallery openings aren’t really anything new for you though. You've been to a few before with your parents so the atmosphere doesn't really bother you. After they divorced you hadn’t been to as many as before but you know the etiquette well enough.

 

There’s an area in the corner that’s basically empty and you go there to catch a breath from all the people surrounding you.

 

You stand in front of a work by Avedon and fiddle with the Hello Kitty camera around your neck. It feels light. Something about the photo entices you and your thumb glosses over the shutter button. You want to take a picture but there’s a man to your left who moves to stand in front of you and obtrudes your view.

 

There’s a girl around your age on his shoulders.

 

“Papa, I wanna see the one over there,” she says while pointing to the Maripol you just came from, her body twisting a bit towards it with her other hand curled safely around her father's head.

 

You glower at them and haughtily roll your eyes. Why did they even open the gallery to the public anyway? It’s not like anyone here gets what they’re looking at, most of them are probably from that run down fishing town, what could they possibly know about art?

 

The girl smiles with her doe eyed expression as her father turns away from your field view and towards where she’s pointing. Your eyes follow them to where he gently lets her down and proceeds to take a picture with his polaroid of the girl standing in front of the photograph, eyes crinkling as she gives him her biggest smile.

 

Something about the girl entices you and it makes you inexplicably angry.

 

You hold back a snarl and leave the area as you pass the duo looking over their photo. You feel queasy and suddenly you don’t want to be in the gallery anymore.

 

The soft chatter of people makes you feel lost and you mother still hasn’t come back to the refreshment table. You ignore the uneasy feeling rising the pit of your stomach and walk to the back of the Gallery.

 

There’s a hallway in the back where the storage and the office room are located. She told you not to follow her here when she left, but you come to stop in front of the office door and hover over the handle as you hear your father’s voice, muffled and angry. There’s stomping and yelling and it’s not like you haven’t heard it all before, but frankly you're tired. You just want to go home already.

 

The door is yanked open from the other side and your mother looks prepared to storm out before she’s taken aback by your sudden presence.

 

“Victoria, sweetheart, what are you doing here?” she questions, trying to mask her pissed off expression. She… doesn’t really do a good job of it. You know it’s not at you, she always makes sure you know it’s never at you, but the fear still rises when you hear the tension.

 

“I- I wanted to take a picture with you.”

 

She immediately softens her gaze and kneels down in front of you.

 

“I’m sorry Tori, but I have to leave. You're going back with your father today.”

 

“But I stay with you on the weekdays!” you protest.

 

“I know but this is just for now, everything will be back to normal next week,” you pout a bit as your mother hugs you, “we’ll take that picture next time, I promise.”

 

_It’s always next time._

 

She lets you go and clenches her fist as she walks away, heels clacking angrily against the marble floor. You look into the office towards your father who honestly, doesn’t even try to mask his contempt. He doesn’t really look at you and you wonder for a moment if it's ok to ask if _he_ wants to take that picture, mind wandering to images of the dad in the gallery, but your words die in your throat. He sighs and masks his face the same way your mother did but it’s not as effective.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

He grabs his jacket and grabs your hand even tighter as you walk back down the hallway, straggling after his fast pace. You try not to notice the way his soulmate mark moves in and out like static on his straining arm, almost like they don’t want to be there. You wonder if your mother’s are doing the same thing.

 

On your way out, you catch sight of the girl from before making a face at the horderves.

 

For a second your eyes meet, the camera around your neck suddenly feeling extremely heavy and your arms start to tingle when you notice her freckles.

 

He pulls you along away from her gaze, the queasiness returning. You never want to come back here again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It all started because of a stupid dare at a stupid party you weren’t even invited to.

 

You have an internal alarm that sets off at around six o’clock every morning and no matter what you do you can't seem to turn it off. Normally you manage to fall back asleep pretty quickly but there are some days where it's almost impossible.

 

Some days like today.

 

You wake from your desk with a stifled groan and reach for your phone on the stack of textbooks next to you. 5:56 am blares into your eyes and you turn down the brightness so you don’t blind yourself from the sudden light.

 

There’s a slight crink in your neck as you sit up to stretch in your chair and you realize you left your laptop on, plugged in all night with google docs and tumblr opened up. The battery’s been burned out and virus filled for months, so the lagginess doesn’t bother you too much. You close it and shuffle out of your seat to pop the ache in your back.

 

At least you were able to finish your paper in time, even if it did cost you a decent night’s sleep.

 

You yawn at the small early flickers of light coming through the window blinds and rub your eyes with the back of your hand, feeling groggy. Your face feels gross and stiff from falling asleep at your desk so you decide you may as well make the best of the time and take a shower while the stalls are empty. You make way to your closet to grab your shower caddy and towel on your way out.

 

The hallway is completely silent. You make sure to close your door with a soft click and navigate your way through the slightly dark hallway, trying not to wake anyone. You’ve snuck out of the dorms a couple of times before with Chloe, so you know exactly how quiet everything can seem in the ungodly hours of the morning, but this silence seems cold, almost dead. Normally you’d at least hear something coming from Dana’s room, but you can’t even see the slightest crack of her door.

 

It’s almost as if the entirety of Blackwell stops at six o’clock. The only thing you can hear is the soft patter of your feet against old carpet and the waking birds. In a way it’s comforting. You could get used to a silence like this.

 

So when you open the door to the showers and see Victoria Chase slouched over one of the the sinks in her pajamas, it definitely comes as a bit of a surprise.

 

You both jump back a little in shock and you debate turning around and walking back to your room but the moment you step in you’re locked into a staring match. Her hair is frazzled and you notice deep bags under her eyes as she squints at you and you realize this is the first time you’ve seen her without any makeup on or her cronies somewhere within a ten foot radius.

She doesn’t seem as pissed off as you would have expected her to be but you suspected it’s only because of the early morning. There’s still a slight sneer in her face as her eyes scan over you and for a split second you think you notice them linger on your bare open arms.

 

Shit you forgot to cover your arms. _Great, another reason for her to taunt me, just great._

 

“What are you doing in here, Caulfield?” Victoria questions, glaring as if you’ve invaded in on something. She crosses her arms over her cashmere jumpsuit, which honestly would’ve looked absolutely ridiculous on anyone else, how she’s managed to pull off a posh onesie look is completely beyond you.

 

“Um, I’m going to take a shower?” you say somewhat in annoyance, vaguely gesture to your shower caddy. It’s a communal bathroom no one has a right to gate keep it. You take a couple of steps forward to challenge her.

 

She rolls her eyes and leans against the sink. “No shit, moron. I meant what are you doing in here at six in the morning.”

 

“I wake up at six,” you shrug and she scoffs.

 

“No you don’t,” Victoria pushes herself off the sink and walks in front of you, blocking you from getting closer to the showers “I come in here everyday at the same exact time and I have never seen you even step out of your room before eight. So why don’t you stop lying, turn around, and get out of my sight. This is my shower time.”

 

You irritation grows and you decide to stand your ground, despite how foolish that decision may seem under her scowl. “There’s five other showers in here, Victoria, you can’t just decide when people get to wash themselves.”

 

“Yes I can,” she threatens, pointing to the door. “ _now get out_.”

 

Her eyes are boring into you. You let out a puff of air and decide it isn’t worth it to argue with her any further.

 

“Fine.” you say and leave with a glare.

 

There’s a small pressure growing at the top of your head. Seems like it only takes one, two minute conversation with her to give you a migraine. You don’t know why she always has to be so controlling and it used to be easy to ignore at the start of the year, just typical teenage bullshit, but after living in the same dorm with her for two months it feels nigh impossible.

 

When you get back to your room you fall down onto your bed in exasperation and stare at the ceiling, hoping sleep will come again.

 

It doesn’t.

 

You sigh and roll over to face the wall.

 

_Who even wakes up at six am just to take a shower anyway?_

 

...

 

On days where you do manage to fall back into sleep, the soft string of a violin two doors down usually wakes you. Normally, after waking up and taking your morning shower, you’d go over the Kate’s room, say hi, and maybe offer to walk with her to your first class.

 

But the violin didn’t wake you, so you decide to walk to class alone.

 

You exit the dormitory with your earphones plugged in and hands pressed into the front pockets of your hoodie to shield them from the slight morning chill. You have english first period, which is honestly, the only class you're doing good in. If straight B’s is anything to go by.

 

You’re passing the dorm gates when your walk is interrupted by Warren.

 

“Hey Max,” he waves and sprints over from where he was previously standing with a currently drone engrossed Brooke. You pocket your earphones and he looks to the spot next to you, “Where’s Kate?”

 

You shrug, “I kind of just wanted to walk alone today.”

 

“Ahh ok.”

 

He continues to walk next to you as you make your way down the concrete, talking adamantly. You don’t think he got the alone part very much, but you still smile as his hands move back and forth through whatever it is he’s saying.

 

Leave it to Warren to never make it feel like you’re living alone.

 

He whirs on about the list of movies and shows he gave you a few days ago, but the topic of _tokyo mew mew_ slowly begins to die down as you pass the skater bros.

 

“You know it’s pretty cold out this morning,” he comments eyeing at your sweater sleeves.

 

“That’s why I’m wearing this,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to deflect exactly where you know this conversation is headed. Internally you groan at his umpteenth attempt at trying to get a look at your soulmate mark. You don’t blame him though, anyone would press the question if your words were as cliche as his, ‘ _Hey, are you Warren?’_

 

You feel a little guilty for unknowingly uttering them on your first meeting, but it is an extremely common type of mark. You just hope his actual soulmate comes into his life soon so you won’t have to explain why it’s not you and couldn’t possibly be.

 

“They said it’s gonna hit the 70’s later today though, so you probably don’t need to where that,”

 

You sigh against the air and retreat your arms deeper into their sleeves, “Warren…”

 

“I know! I know, but come on Max you can’t just keep wearing the same sweater every day. I won’t judge you if your words are weird or something.” he jokes warily, “it’s probably not even me.”

 

“That’s not- I just,” you fumble a bit and cross your arms over your chest, “It’s just private. I don’t like drawing attention to stuff like that.”

 

“I get it. I’ll drop it.”

 

It always feels strange when people point out the way you hide your sleeves. When they constantly notice the one thing try so hard to conceal. You don’t know when exactly sweaters became a daily part of your life; maybe it was when you were eight years old and sitting in the back of the school yard crying because some of the other kids taunted you for your soulmate-less arms, maybe it was a little more recent. Either way it’s a habit you can’t rid.

 

The sleeve pulls, the stiff arms, the background fades. They’re just a part of you now, but in a way it quells your anxiety.

 

Everyone has a soulmate. Everyone wants one. It’s what you’re told from the time you're old enough to comprehend. The first words of someone supposedly fated for your love, permanently imprinted on an arm but you never got one.

 

And you don’t think you ever really wanted one.

 

No one get’s their mark past six years old, no one. There are some late bloomers, yes, but six is seen as the point of no return. Blank isn’t normal.

 

Blank is just _weird_. Like being born without a face.

 

But you didn’t wait with baited breath for something to appear. You didn’t stay up til midnight the night before your sixth birthday for a sign. You never paid it any mind until the world did.

 

(Ostracizing eyes hurt after a while. It’s not your fault you’re unmarked.)

 

Warren waves goodbye at the staircase and you wave back feeling strangely exposed. Even after twelve years you’re still not used to the soulmate questions. You walk up the stairs quickly and push the unease from your mind.

 

You hope english class is longer today.

 

 

* * *

 

“Victoria!”

 

You look up from where you’re leaning against your locker and tear your eyes away from the small stack of papers in your hand to Courtney sprinting towards you. She stops a little breathless in front of you and takes out a folder from her messenger bag.

 

“I have your science homework,”

 

You grumble and take it from her, putting it into your own bag, “It’s about time.”

 

“I’m sorry I know you said to give it to you this morning but I-”

 

“Save it Courtney,” you say with a wave of your hand. She shuts up and presses her lips together as you start to leave. It only takes her a few seconds before she shakes off the scold and follows you down the hallway in attempts to go over vortex party business to deflect from her previous mistake.

 

“I have the list of names,” Courtney notifies, “oh, and Hayden told me to tell you Nathan wants to meet up to talk about party favors.”

 

You raise a brow, “He couldn’t have just texted me?”

 

She shrugs a bit uncomfortably like how people always seem to shrug whenever the topic of conversation goes to Nathan. You wish they would stop doing that. “That’s what he told me.”

 

“God, he is being so fucking strange lately,” you exhale while going through some of the papers in your hand as you round the corner towards the staircase. You take out a small party flyer with the Vortex Club brand on it, extending it to Courtney, “also you didn’t need to make this, it’s not like this is going to be some kind of school supervised pool party, so don’t- Oof!”

 

Papers and a battered journal litter the floor as you stumble to the ground followed by a just as stumbled Max Caulfield.

 

“Oh my god Victoria, are you ok?” Courtney splutters as she hurriedly moves to help you up.

 

“I’m fine,” you shove her hand away and turn to face a stumped Max, she always looks so clueless.

 

“Try to use your eyes next time when your walking, Caulfield.” you snarl with an irritated puff. It has a little more bite than you intended but as always, she barely seems fazed. _God_ you can’t stand that same stupid disconnected expression. If you were in a better (or worse) mood maybe you’d stay to rile her up and get some kind of a response but you’re not.

 

“I’m sorry.” she grumbles and reaches for her journal and the few pages that fell out. Courtney is already scurrying on the ground and grabbing the notes you dropped. You ignore her and move past them, foot stomping down on her journal before she can grab it as you walk away and down the staircase with a roll of your eyes.

 

The top of your head is pounding.

 

You hear Courtney’s footsteps run after you as you near the landing.

 

“Did you get everything?”

 

“Yes I-”

 

“Good, now tell Hayden to get off his stoned ass and get the party favors with Nathan himself, that’s not my job.”

 

“Hayden went home for the weekend.”

 

You stop in your tracks.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? And he didn’t think to tell anyone until now?”

 

You need to start leaving the actual Vortex business to reliable people and not the ones who spend over half of the day either high or hungover. You might be Vice president, but the President doesn’t actually do much apart from buy drugs and make sure you’re all funded with adequate Prescott cash. Everything else has always been your job so you may as well be the one in charge, but the title won’t ever belong to you. After a while all the ordering around gets to be a bit too overwhelming. The party is tonight and only half of the preparations are done. You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh.

 

“Fine fine, just go talk to Nathan about it yourself.”

 

Again, Courtney shifts uncomfortably.

 

“Are you sure? I mean you did say he was acting weird lately- not that I’m saying he’s weird or anything,” she stammers, catching herself on her word choice in front of you, “it’s just he’s your soulmate, I don’t want to intrude on-.”

 

You bite the inside of your cheek.

 

 _‘soulmate’_.

 

“I’ll talk to him,” you cut her off before she can continue anymore, seeing her discomfort (or maybe it’s just yours), “Just - make sure you get everything else done.”

 

You turn on your heels and walk out the school, ignoring her relief and loss of tension in her shoulders at your dis-command.

 

You send a text to Nathan and ask him where he is but he doesn’t respond.

 

...

 

Fridays are your least favorite day of the week.

 

Something about them keeps you on edge and the weekends have never been a source of comfort for you. Maybe it’s just the anticipation.  

 

You trek along the path of the tobanga and round a large oak tree going deeper and deeper into the forest behind the dormitories, the smell of pot growing stronger. There are only three places you know you’re guaranteed to find Nathan. His dorm, his pick up, or the dingy little overhang in the woods where the Vortex club goes to shoot up when the junkyard becomes too inconvenient. Your flats were not meant for this bullshit walk.

 

You come to a small opening in the trees with a series of boulders peeking out of the ground, scorched in various burns from late night bonfires. There’s a burning bush on the far side of the clearing. The sun beats down on your back and you shift uncomfortably in your starch-pressed collar, feet tapping against the rock with arms crossed. Anyone else would have been sent running at the sight in a fit of unease, threat of forest fires and a deranged teen, but to you it’s simply just Nathan.

 

You cough a bit when the wind blows some of the smoke your way. He perks up his ears at the sound.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” he smirks in a lighthearted gibe, flicking his lighter as if it makes him any cool or any deep, but you know that’s not the way he thinks. He flicks the lighter because he wants to, no other reason but that.

 

“Aren’t you?” you retaliate. He goes back to the small fire pit he’s made and leisurely starts to fan down the flames. “Why didn’t you answer your phone.”

 

He shrugs, “I lost it.”

 

“Bullshit you never lose anything.”

 

“Fine, maybe I just wanted to see you.”

 

 _He knew you wouldn’t have come otherwise._ And if you were both different people, in a different town, in a different story, the gesture might have seemed romantic, if not sweet. But neither of you give a fuck.

 

You bump against his shoulder playfully as you sit down on the stone next to him and stick your hand out. “Oh please Nate, we both know you don’t do that mushy crap,” He passes the blunt and you take a drag, “I’m not going with you to get the stuff, you know.”

 

“Yeah I figured.”

 

“And don’t wait until the last second to buy the stuff like an idiot. Last time you almost got caught.”

 

He scoffs. “Yeah _almost_. You forget I have over half of this town in the palm of my hand, Vic. No one’s going to fuck with me. I could shoot a kid and I’d still be untouchable.”

 

You brush off his passive violent remark You know he doesn’t mean it. You _know_ he doesn’t (you think). That’s just the way he talks. He stretches his arms above his head and doesn’t even flinch at the tendrils of smoke blowing into his face from the firepit.

 

“And make sure that lowlife doesn’t give you anything that’s worth shit this time.”

 

“Jesus christ I know, it was one fucking time. Frank doesn’t screw me over like that he knows what’ll happen.”

 

You hum in response.

 

Nathan looks over at you with a ruminative gaze as you lay down on the rock and cross your legs.

 

“What’s got you in a bitchy mood?” he asks, nonchalantly kicking some pebbles into the dying fire.

 

You pull at some of the moss on the boulder and flick it away, trying not to look directly at him. His short sleeve shirt exposes his soulmate mark and it always makes you feel cold. You guess that’s a good thing for the summer and heat but it still stings.

 

You pull at your cashmere sleeve.

 

“My dad called me this morning.”

 

He snickers, “Yeah that’ll do it,” He walks away from where he’s standing next to you to stomp on what’s left of the burning bush, embers flying away.

 

“If he calls again tell him I said fuck off.”

 

You both know neither of you would actually say it, but the effort makes you smile regardless.

 

 

* * *

 

Math has never made any sense to you.

 

You’re sitting at your desk with nothing but the soft tick of the clock resounding throughout your head and a completely blank test laid out before you. You’re pretty sure it has something to do with statistics but the clock keeps ticking and you can’t concentrate on a single thing but how fast the time seems to go.

 

Maybe this is why you're retaking the class.

 

You bounce your foot against the leg of your chair and bite the end of your pencil, trying to ignore how student after student gets up to hand in their test and walk out the door.

 

You try to tell yourself it’s because you’re just an art student, numbers and formulas have no place in your mind. It’s ok if you're not good at it, you don’t have to be, but it still hurts when you can’t even finish a simple problem in double the time your classmates can because for some strange reason none of it computes.

 

God do you need to bring up your gpa.

 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you look towards your teacher to see him nose deep in a book. You decide to sneak a glance at the message underneath the table and hope nobody looks up to notice.

 

Chloe 

Dude are you out yet? It’s been like 50 min

 

                                                                                                                                                    Max 

yeah yeah

I’ll be out in a sec. just hold on

 

 

It almost feels like your test is mocking you. ‘out in a second’, yeah right, the most you’ve written down is your name and the date. You breathe out a puff of air and quickly bullshit the first two problems with random numbers. At least you’ll have something to turn in.

 

You get up from your seat and walk over to put your test face down on the pile with the others. Your teacher raises his eyebrow but you rush out the door, clutching your bag strap before he can turn it over and question why you’ve turned in another incomplete.

 

You breathe out a sigh of relief when you manage to make it out without him stopping you and open your phone to see another message as you lean against the nearest wall.

 

 

Chloe 

Common I’m fucking starving here, 2 whales isnt open forever you kno

 

Max 

It’s 12:15  I think you can manage -_-

Also I just finished

 Chloe 

Sweet meet me up at the parking lot

 

You back pocket your phone and make way for the parking lot, stomach grumbling. You forgot to get breakfast this morning and basically sprint to Chloe’s car in promises of food and to forget the ever growing stress of school. The only thing you want right now is to chill with your best friend and forget all the pressure.

 

The rusty pick up truck comes into view at the back of the lot, parked diagonally and taking up two spots as per usual. Classic Chloe.

 

You hop in and lean back against the worn cotton seat, sigh on your lips.

 

“Bad test?” She asks with an understanding pat as she backs out of the spot with her other hand, “you know I told you I could tutor you or something, it’s not like I’m that bad at math.”

 

“Chloe you dropped out like eight months ago.”

 

“Hey, once a science geek always a science geek. I’ve got mad knowledge about this shit I can totally help you.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll think about it,” you know that she just wants to help but the last time you let her try to tutor you, it turned from a relatively quiet studying session to a two hour sparring match in brawl to settle who was right about question seven.

 

“Where’s Rachel?”

 

She shrugs her shoulders and makes her way out of the school grounds. “She said she wasn’t hungry.”

 

You hear the slight spat in her voice as she answers your question.They’ve been having some relationship problems recently so you don’t press the issue. You know it’s nothing too major, if it was then Chloe would be complaining to you nonstop about how she’s never around anymore and always seems to do her own thing with people that aren’t _her_. So you’re glad they’re at least trying to work out their problems without going to you every five minutes for advice, all that soulmate drama is tiring sometimes.

 

On the way you decide to text Rachel and ask her if she wants to hang out with you guys later, knowing Chloe would be too stubborn to do it herself until it was a tad too late. She’s a fast texter, it doesn’t even take her twenty seconds to respond back with an enthusiastic ‘sure’ and a smile.

 

“You know you’re lucky you don’t have to deal with all this soulmate bullshit. I’d kill to have blank arms.”

 

“No you wouldn’t, you guys are like the grossest couple in existence,” _yeah, when they’re not fighting,_ “You’d probably die from the thirst.”

 

She chuckles to herself and adjusts her rear view mirror with a feather charm she got from Rachel hanging off it.

 

“Yeah probably.”

 

It doesn’t take you guys too long to reach the Two Whales. You walk in and notice it’s a bit slow today. The only other people sitting in the diner a lone, sixty year old with a newspaper, and one of the angry fishermen.You decide to grab a booth farthest to the back while Chloe goes around to the counter and calls her mom from the kitchen.

 

You browse through the menu as you wait for them, even if you’ve already memorized most of what’s already on there. The seats are cold and one half of the table feels a bit sticky so you put a napkin over it. Chloe swerves back around to you from the counter, bickering with Joyce as she does and hops into the opposite seat. All of it is kind of nostalgic.

 

“I’m just telling you Chloe, you need to be more mindful of where you park. I don’t want to keep seeing parking notices in our mail.”

 

“Well it wouldn’t be a _problem_ if Step do- David would just let me park in the driveway.”

 

You tune them out for a bit and fiddle with the napkin you placed on the table. They always have to argue about something but it's never more than light hearted jibes. You’re used to it of course, but it makes you feel a little out of place sometimes.

 

“Anyway,” Joyce sighs and flips her notepad, “what would like to eat Max?”

 

“Just some waffles.” you smile.

 

“Breakfast for lunch again? I’ll get it right up.”

 

“And a burger for me!” Chloe chimes in over her head as Joyce walks away and into the back.

 

“You aren’t getting any fries with that burger, little miss.” she calls back.

 

Chloe grunts and stuffs the parking ticket her mom gave her into her back pocket.

 

“You got a pen?” she asks while grabbing a different sheet from her other one.

 

“Yeah, why?” you reply, going through your messenger bag for something to write with.

 

“I need to jot something down.”

 

There’s a blue pen sticking out of your journal and you place the book on the table while opening it up to the page it’s on. She takes the pen and notices your journal is bent at the corner with more pages popping out of it than usual and a shoe mark on it’s cover.

 

“What happened to your diary?” she points with the cap.

 

You roll your eyes lightly, “I told you it’s not a diary. And Victoria Chase happened.”

 

“Are you serious? Did that asshole really just decide to wreak on your notebook? What a bitch.”

 

You shake your head.

 

“No, she bumped into me and it fell out of my bag.”

 

“Oh come on Max, she probably bumped into you on purpose or something,” she assumes, pen cap in her mouth as she scribbles down numbers and a little reminder to herself on the note,  “She’s like a hawk, girl never misses anything and I mean _anything_. Everything she does has some kind of weird, fucked up ulterior motive.”

 

“I’m pretty sure it was just an accident, Chloe. I don’t think everything she does is part of her ‘evil plans’.” you remark, your mind wandering to this morning in the bathroom. “I think she’s just a bitch subconsciously.”

 

“Still a bitch either way.” she quips.

 

She hands you back your pen and Joyce comes back with your food, Belgian waffles and Chloe’s cheeseburger. You remember to thank her as she leaves the food and goes back to fixing up the kitchen. You’re about the close your notebook when Chloe points out a flyer sticking out of the book with a Vortex club symbol at the corner.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

You look to where she’s pointing and take out the multi colored page and look it over:

 

_Bonfire. 10 - 4 - 13. Friday Night._

_Prescott Beach House._

 

“You’re not seriously thinking of going to that are you?” she snorts with an eyebrow raised.

 

“What? Hell no. I probably just mixed my stuff with Victoria’s when I dropped the book.”

 

Chloe grabs her burger and starts taking sloppy bites, “Good I woulda thought there was something seriously wrong with you if you did.”

 

“Isn’t Rachel going?” you question. You’ve heard about this party. There weren’t any signs around the school proclaiming it but word spreads around fast regardless if it’s advertised, especially if said word is from the Vortex club. You heard a lot of people were going, and apparently it’s supposed to be a big deal being the first party of the month.

 

The Vortex club maybe filled with a bunch of pretentious douche bags but they do know how to party and Rachel wouldn’t miss on that for the world.

 

“Nah. Chase tried to ban her a couple of weeks ago. She said she probably won’t go to one until it blows over and Nathan makes her let her back in.”

 

“Nathan?” you ask in a little shock, pouring syrup over your waffles.

 

“Yeah the prick has the weirdest crush on her. He’d do anything to keep her around their cult.” she responds with a hint of jealousy and barely hidden disgust, “honestly the guy is fucking gross. He’s like the perfect example that soulmates are complete bullshit and don’t really change anything about anyone. Like come on.” she continues through a mouth full, “what kind of universe gives an asshole like him a soulmate and not you?”

 

She pauses for a second, swallowing her food. “Actually scratch that, him and Victoria are perfect for each other. Match made in hell.”

 

“Yeah I heard about that. Do you think they’re actually soulmates?”

 

Chloe takes a sip of her drink, “Why wouldn’t they be?”

 

You scratch your neck and look at your food, “I don’t know, they don’t really act like it. Lovey dovey I mean.”

 

She shrugs, “Not my business.”

 

_That reminds you._

 

“You know she saw my arms this morning.” you mention through slow chews.

 

“Who? Chase?”

 

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Yeah.”

 

“Oh shit, what are you gonna do.”

 

“I don’t know, I mean- she didn’t mention it and it doesn’t look like she told anyone so I don’t think she realized, but..”

 

“But you’re worried.”

 

You nod and Chloe puts a sympathetic hand over yours. You’re glad you have someone to confide in this kind of stuff with. She might not always understand, being that she has her mark, or know exactly what to say when comforting someone, but the gestures still count and make you feel reassured regardless. You know you could always tell Warren or Kate about it, but Chloe’s always been there, back when you were just the weird little girl with nothing on her arms that everyone picked on and she was the plucky blonde who warded them off. And that’s enough.

 

“If any of them try anything I’ll kick their asses.”

 

You smile and she pulls back her hand to go back to eating her food.

 

“Anyway I don’t want to talk about the Vor-sux anymore. Just thinking about that shit show gives me a fucking headache.” she huffs.

 

“Yeah I know what you mean.”

 

You crumple the flyer and stuff it into the crack between the table and the wall.

 

...

 

You used to have a photography elective on Fridays and a class every other day of the week that no one’s been able to actually go to, since Mark Jefferson, the previous teacher, got arrested for kidnapping and assault. The whole ordeal happened before most of you got to Blackwell in the first place but it was still just as jarring to hear. Since then, the school’s been looking for an adequate replacement and the students have had to share their period with the painting class three doors down instead.

 

In all honesty it could have been worse. Brushes are still fun.

 

You retie your apron over your sweater, it keeps coming undone but all the other ones were taken. Your sleeves are pulled back every so slightly at the wrists so as not to get paint on them and you can’t help but regret not taking a smock instead.

 

“Nice boat, Max.” Kate chimes in encouragingly from her spot next to you.

 

“It’s supposed to be a shoe..” you pout

 

“Oh.” She tilts her head a little to the side to try to get the image of a shoe out of your mess of a painting. “Well it’s a nice shoe too, very abstract.”  

 

You look over at her canvas and grimace in comparison of hers to yours. It’s a sunset and in all honestly, it looks like a goddamn masterpiece; the details are clearly defined and it looks nothing short of three dimensional unlike yours. At least she’s in her element. You want photography back.

 

“You should try a flatter brush, it’s better for base coating.” she recommends lifting up her yellow stained brush.

 

“I thought this was a flat brush.” you look at your brush disappointed and notice the multitude of colors all mixed together along the tip - you need to refill your water cup.

 

“Technically that’s a rake brush.” she clarifies, leaning towards you and pointing out the differences in texture and shape of the two, “It’s better for details, but you can still use it for-”

 

“Oh please, Max wouldn’t know the difference between an angular and a flat brush.” Victoria taunts as she skims past you and Kate with Taylor following closely behind, heaving a large tray of paint. She’s not wearing an apron and didn’t even bother to roll up her sleeves for the project. You have a feeling she’s not going to be doing much painting this period and Taylor is going to be doing a lot. You feel bad for her.

 

You both ignore them, and go back to painting. Taking Kate’s advice, you switch to the flatter, cleaner brush. You pause a second before you dip it in your blue paint.

 

“Wait, what is the difference between a flat and an angular?”

 

She giggles and explains. At least painting with Kate is fun.

 

That’s how the rest of the period goes, mildly carefree and everyone caught in quiet conversations as they work on their canvases and Kate helping you out every now and then with your paints. You look up periodically to scan around the room and see how completed everyone else is with their paintings

 

There are at least some people in the class who are worse than you at this. Some having blended too much and others too little. Rachel is posing in front of Daniel who’s working on a simple portrait of her with inks, and Taylor seems to have finished one of her canvases and moves onto finish (Victoria’s) the second.

 

It’s probably one of the most calming atmospheres you’ve felt in a Blackwell classroom. If only every class could be as drama free.

 

You subconsciously dip your brush back into the paint cup and notice it’s borderline black. You’ve been holding it off for long enough and make way to the back of the room by the sink to empty refill. The sink’s drain has been broken for the past few weeks so everyone’s been emptying their cups into a large bucket seated on the table by the sink.

 

And well, if you’d know what one broken sink would do to your entire life from this moment forward, you would have never moved from your spot next to Kate and the boat-shoe painting.

 

Sadly, you can’t control time.

 

Victoria is sat in a chair, legs crossed and arms folded over one another, in front of said water bucket with Taylor working vigorously in a spot not very far. You, again (as always), try to ignore them and move past her to empty your cup.

 

“This is completely ridiculous. I didn’t come to this school to paint a fucking picture.” she complains, picking through her fingers.

 

 _You’re not painting at all, Victoria._ You think to yourself, rolling your eyes. Good thing you’re not facing her or you’d never hear the end of it. She’s lucky Ms. Harst isn’t paying attention to her lack of participation.

 

“Ugh and I have fucking paint in my nails, how does that even happen.”

 

Taylor grunts from where she’s standing and cracks her aching fingers from overworking herself. You guess she’s also lucky to have a minion that specializes in oil painting.

 

The bucket is bit too tall for your short stature so you stand on your toes to empty out the cup. What you don’t realize is that as you do, your apron once again comes undone and a strap gets caught on it’s handle.

 

And being the clumsy person that you are, you bump against it as you turn to go back, bringing the bucket with you, subsequently spilling it onto the floor and an unsuspecting Victoria Chase.

 

You squeeze both of your eyes shut the moment you hear the resounding thud of the bucket and splash of dirty paint water, heart stopping.

 

“Oh my god! Oh my fucking god are you kidding me?!”

 

The entire class turns to face the back of the room, all eyes on you and Victoria. Rachel snickers when she sees her drenched figure and gives you a thumbs up from the other side of the room, most of the class having similar varied responses. That doesn’t exactly make you feel any better.

 

You turn around to face her but before you can even utter anything resembling an apology, she cuts you off with a furious glare.

 

“ _You,_ you little-”

 

“Victoria,” Ms. Harst interrupts her, pre-rant, “go clean yourself up in the bathroom.”

 

“Ms. Harst she obviously-”

 

“Now. And take a towel.”

 

She rages out the classroom before she can hear the word towel in a contemptuous huff, fists and jaw clenched as she storms out with a wet stomp.

 

Ms. Harst sighs and goes to the pile of dirty towels and smocks. She lays some towels down to soak up the wet spot, which surprisingly isn’t as big as you thought it would be, most of the water having landed on you and Victoria.

 

 _On Victoria_. The realization hits you again.

 

“Max,” she walks towards you with two of the slightly less paint stained towels from the pile, “give these to her and make sure you both get to your dorms to get redressed.”

 

Taylor interjects with a worried expression, hand raised, “Are you sure Ms. Harst? I’d be more than happy to accompany Victoria to her room.”

 

“I believe I’ve already asked Max, Ms. Christensen.” she says with a strict tone. You take the towel, already dreading the thought, head pounding. “When you come back finishing cleaning up the mess.”

 

You nod and exit the room and make way down the hallway to the bathroom, your shoes squeaking against the floor and left hand clutching tightly against the towels. You waver for a moment in front of the bathroom door with your hand hovering over the handle and head spinning.

 

_Why do you have to be so god damn clumsy Max?_

 

You decide to just get it over with and push through.

 

And the moment you enter the sight you find is not what you expected at all.

 

You expected to walk in on someone fuming with rage, but like this morning, the moment you walk in she’s wide eyed and taken aback by your sudden presence. The look she gives you is many things but if anything, it’s not seething.

 

You don’t think you have ever, _ever_ seen Victoria without her cashmere sweater, but she’s there staring at you, sweater off and soaked in her hands. Underneath is a yellow, short sleeved button down frumpled at the chest but everyone knows that. Everyone knows she likes yellow, the color is a part of her everyday attire, it’s nothing new but that’s not what you notice.

 

She quickly drops the sweater and goes to hide her arms across her chest, a flash of fear crossing over her eyes but it doesn’t matter. You already saw it.

 

There are absolutely no words on her arms.

 

 

* * *

 

Despite popular belief, fate tends to make mistakes on a very regular basis.

 

You aren’t meant for anybody.

 

Your words sit painfully blank against dry angry skin so you’ve since learned to cover it up with cashmere sweaters and black leggings. It’s a rarity, not having a soulmate mark, it’s associated with aromanticism but more commonly seen as a queer sort of brokenness. So broken you hadn’t even heard of anyone else having blank limbs until you were thirteen years old and frantically searching the internet for a reason _why_.

 

People typically got their words at three, latest age six, but you waited years with a false sense that you were just a late bloomer, just needed a little more time than usual. Your father on the other hand, shrugged and said it’d help you focus better on what really matters. No romantic distractions from photography, just you, your brain, and a camera, but it never really felt like that. If anything it felt like the universe was telling you _no, you just don’t deserve it. you’re too rotten to be loved._

 

And then Nathan showed up.

 

But the universe is not perfect and not all stars align completely.

 

You met him when you were nine years old during a gallery opening and when he came up to you the words you uttered didn’t appear on his arms, and neither did his on yours.

 

Instead, when he came up to you in his ridiculous little tuxedo, and you asked him, ‘why he was wearing such a big bow tie’ He replied with a sentence that appeared on no one's arms but his own.

 

His father took it as a simple miscalculation by fate's hands; that it was some kind of glitch and you were soulmates, just misaligned, but you never bought that.

 

If anything it was fate telling him Nathan had no one to love but himself.

 

Maybe that was the case (maybe it wasn’t). Either way the lack of words on your arms is something you’ve been ignoring for years. You turn away any attempts at anyone trying to get a look at your arms and deflect any and all soulmate discussions, you’re good at doing that. And being a bitch definitely helps at pushing all the unwanted people away but the fear is still there.

 

You know the stigma.

 

You don’t need it, you don’t want it, you’re too busy for that kind of pressure. Too busy to notice.

 

And maybe, maybe if you took the time to notice, you’d have noticed sooner how she awkwardly covers up the same areas on her body with gray sweaters and faded jeans.

 

But you don’t, if anything you try to ignore everything that Max Caulfield is.

 

(try)

 

God she has such a stupid, blank expression.

 

“If you dare even _think_ about telling anyone about this I swear to god I will-” you waver in your threat, “I will- I’ll do something.”

 

She walks towards you with an understanding look, laced in a gaze that looks something akin to pity, something you’ve seen all too many times before and the instinctual fear mixed with anger quickly turns to just that, just anger.

 

Now you’re seething.

 

“Victoria-”

 

“Don’t even say anything Caulfield, because I know exactly what you’re going to say and I am _nothing_ like you.”

 

You snatch the towel from her grasp and immediately throw it over your shoulders and curl it up around your arms. You pick up your sweater from the floor where you dropped it and shove her out of the way as you leave the bathroom, ignoring the way she looks like she wants to talk to you.

 

Always ignoring.

 

You fast walk down the pathway to your dorm before the watered down paint starts to set into your clothes and as far away from Max as you can get. You hear her footsteps coming up behind you. A little too close behind you.

 

“Why are you following me?” you hiss over your shoulder not bothering to turn around.

 

“I, I’m not. I just want to talk.” she says in an open voice trying to catch up to you.You turn on your heel abruptly and face her, making her come to a quick halt.

 

“Stop it, just, stop it with the whole consultation crap,” you sneer through clenched teeth, “Just because we’re both fucked up doesn’t mean we get to bond over being blanks. We’re not friends and we never will be. So stay the hell away from me and forget what you saw.”

 

You think the harsh words work because now she’s taken aback and starting to look a little pissed off too, eyes narrowing.

 

“I just wanted to help.”

 

“I don’t need any help.”

 

You leave her by the dorm gates and walk even faster towards the building. Your head is throbbing; you’ve had way too much Caulfield for one day.

 

_‘Help’, give me a fucking break._

 

 

* * *

 

 

You ended up going back to Ms. Harst’s class and cleaning up the mess by yourself.

 

Normally you like to give people the benefit of the doubt. No one is 100% pure evil, or, 100% bitchy in this case, but after the whole ordeal in the bathroom you’d believe in any black or white dichotomy because Victoria is nothing but ice and nails. It’s the last time you’ll ever extend a hand out to her, even if you do both have an abnormality.

 

You guess civility is just a foreign a concept between the two of you.

 

You finish your last class and walk back to the dorms, ready to properly clean yourself up and wind down for the day. When you enter the dormitory and come to stop in front of your door you notice a folded white note caught in the crack.

 

Curious, you open it and read the letter before you walk in, one hand on the door knob. It’s short but the moment you see the sharp bold script you know who it’s from.

 

You stare blankly at the italicized ‘V.C’ signed in bright red at the end of the note.

 

The Vortex club doesn’t send out invitations. Technically, anyone is invited to go, granted they actually know the location/can afford it. No, they send out cards to every person not invited, every person officially placed on their shitlist, and all of them personally signed by Victoria Chase herself with a passive aggressive little rsvp on the side.

 

A formal way of telling anyone that they’re an enemy of the Vortex Club.

 

And you just got one.

 

...

 

“No. Nuh-uh,” Chloe shakes her head as she reads over the note for the tenth time. This time tossing it into her trash can, “no way, we are totally crashing that party now.”

 

You sigh against Chloe’s dresser and look towards a completely indifferent Rachel for help, who’s just bobbing her head nonchalantly to the radio and scrolling through her phone like they aren't about to make one of the worst decisions in your entire high school career.

 

“Can we _please_ just drop this? I don’t want to get in anymore shit than I’m already in with the Vortex club, especially Victoria. Let’s just sit back and watch a movie like we always do on Friday night’s.” you try to persuade but she won’t hear it.

 

You’ve seen the letters before; Kate’s gotten one, Chloe’s gotten one, Rachel’s gotten more than any of you can count, and the point is you know how they’re written. You’ve read them all before but yours was different some how. It wasn’t just an un-invitation, it was more than some passive aggressive little threat. This was a commination.

 

“Oh come on Max, first me then Rachel, now _you_? They’ve obviously got some kind of weird ass vendetta against us, you can’t just let them keep pushing you around like this. Let’s go over, thrash the place and speed back out before anyone even knows it was us. Clean getaway.”

 

“Chloe you have blue hair and your car’s as quiet as a jet engine, of course they’re going to know it was us.”

 

“She’s right,” Rachel chimes in, not even looking up from her phone. You breath out a sigh of relief as you’re about to thank her, before she continues, “we should use my car it’s quieter.”

 

You throw your head back against the dresser. So much for that support.

 

“I thought they towed it,” Chloe mentions as she sifts through one of her drawers for a beanie and places it completely over her head, covering the dyed hair. She turns back to you as she moves to her bed, pointing at the beanie in a smug sort a face. There is no way you’re getting out of this huge mistake now if both of them are on board.

 

“Nah I got it back last weekend,” she clarifies getting up and pocketing her phone to grab the blunt from Chloe’s ashtray. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and takes a drag as she faces you, “why’d she send you an un-invite anyway? I didn’t even think she barely acknowledged you existed.”

 

“Oh believe me, she knows I exist.” you grumble.

 

Rachel walks towards you and places a hand on your shoulder.

 

“Hey, Victoria, is an asshole, but you don’t have to take that kind of shit from her. Also that little stunt you pulled in the art room was a pretty sweet comeback.” she winks, “You’ve got the guts.”

 

You scratch your cheek a little bashfully, “It was an accident, but I know what you’re saying. I just don’t know if I’m willing to go as far as direct revenge.”

 

You’d rather not challenge her like that, you know it could only end badly.

 

“Max how many times has she screwed you and everyone else over? I’m pretty sure she wasn’t exactly the ‘best of friends’ when you walked back with her to the dorm considering you looked like you’d just watched a puppy get shot when you came back.”

 

You grimace at the thought and Rachel continues.

 

“And it’s not direct revenge, me and Chloe do it all the time, and people barely even notice,” she smirks, “think of it like… indirect revenge. Plus you have us, nothing bad’ll happen.”

 

“I’m pretty sure they know it’s you guys. You’re both kinda loud and you get ban note at least once a week from the club.”

 

“Yeah but we got you this time,” Chloe states from the other side of the room, “You’re like a fucking ninja or something, your quiet skills could hella hide us.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” you respond but smile a bit at the ninja part.

 

“Come on Max,” Rachel begins to ask, “You in?”

 

You contemplate on it for a moment, both Chloe and Rachel looking intently at you. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t (there’s plenty reasons why, none of you just want to acknowledge them), and honestly this past day Victoria has been absolutely nothing _but_ rude to you, more so than usual. What’s wrong with a little mindless vengeance on the rich kids?

 

“Sure, why the fuck not?”

 

Rachel high fives you and Chloe fist pumps; you’re going to your first ever Vortex Club party.

 

...

 

There are small flickers of light coming through the trees and the sound of voices echoing off about an eighth a mile away.

 

The clock in Rachel’s car ticks twenty one thirteen, sixteen seconds past a lifetime. You wonder why she insists on using military time, it’s confusing.

 

“Remind me again why we’re stopping in the middle of the road?” you question. You step out of the back seat and onto the narrow gravel path leading into the woods from the main road and meetup next to Rachel on the other side of the vehicle. The path is so narrow that only one car could fit through it at a time. You’d think with all that Prescott money they’d at least invest in wider roads.

 

Chloe clambers out of the driver's seat looks proudly at her parking job, having taken up the entire width of the gravel with Rachel’s jeep.

 

“Courtney haunts the entrance with the bouncer and makes sure anyone told to fuck off doesn’t get in. Hence the parking five minutes away.” she explains, “And I parked in the middle cause I mean, why the hell not.”

 

You zip up your hoodie to protect against the night's chill and the three of you start walking down the path to the house. As the music gets louder and the smell of the ocean and burning flames grow stronger, you start to deviate off and inch around through the forest to get in from the left side of the party. The beach comes into sight, a growing fire surrounded by a large number of people and even more coming from the patio of the beach house.

 

“Damn they have really shit security this year.” Rachel exclaims in surprise over the pounding of the now engulfing bass.

 

On seeing the crowd, she lets out a loud whoop and grabs a branch from the ground and proceeds to run onto the sand, arms raised, and into the circle to throw it into the pit. Some people automatically recognize her and cheer, one of them tossing her a bottle of cheap beer.

 

So much for being discreet.

 

You’ve never crashed a party in your life let alone actually been to one. The fact that you’ve been friends with Rachel and Chloe for this long and you haven’t been to a single party until now is honestly a life achievement. Your chest is hammering with anxiety as you’re taken into the midst of the crowd.

 

Chloe runs after her, leaving you behind, with complaints on her lips that she just completely ruined their plan (again) by rushing in. They seem to have _very_ different ideas of what crashing a party means,

 

Rachel brushes off her pout and pulls her in to dance, placing a beer in her hands and mouthing a sentence that looks a lot like ‘let’s just have some fun first.’ It’s been awhile since she’s gotten hammered and the smile on her face as she grinds against Chloe is breathtaking.

 

Chloe can’t help but give a lopsided smirk back and concede.

 

Well you guess that leaves you completely out of the picture.

 

(Third wheeling is hard) This is going to be a long night.

 

...

 

You swear you never drink.

 

You don’t smoke, you don’t sniff, and you do not under any circumstances drink. It’s just not something that has ever appealed to you.

 

‘Straight Edge Max’

 

That’s what you keep telling yourself. At least until the third beer.

 

You’re eighteen years old, what can you say? You were being kind of ridged just standing around awkwardly on the sidelines. It’s not your fault Rachel slurred up next to you, stuffed a budweiser into your hands, and told you that ‘you need to loosen up and get drunk’. (except it’s entirely your fault. You know Rachel never forces you into anything, you always have a choice with Rachel and drinking is not the exception. You just wanted to try it).

 

The first beer did loosen you up and you started to throw boards and sticks into the pit with everyone else, varying in size. It seemed harmless enough and the second beer got you dancing and singing to songs you’d never heard of or would have listened to for that matter, but it got you energetic. By the third beer you understood what they meant when people spoke about liquid courage. You didn’t know you were a lightweight.

 

You don’t know when exactly the three of you left the bonfire area and got into the beach house, all you know is that you’re there and it’s louder and way more compact.

 

Now at some point after being thirty minutes into being at the party and six shots on Chloe’s part later, someone get’s the bright idea to start playing truth or dare. In actuality it’s more like a bet or dare game

 

The duo is standing near the back of the house by the sliding glass doors to the patio, talking with some of the skater bros that they know. You forgot some of their names, Justin you think one of them is named, high off his ass and going on about some crazy and obviously not entirely true stories.

 

“I swear maaan, saw this guy try to open a beer with his teeth once. It took him ten minutes and he had to get seven stitches and a jaw replacement. It never works out.”

 

“Bullshit, I bet you thirty bucks I can open this bottle right here right now, no sweat.” Rachel challenges.

 

“Forty bucks.” he sticks out his hand taking the bet.

 

“Deal.”

 

She grabs his hand in a firm shake and holds up the cap to the side of her mouth making direct eye contact, top teeth coming down on the cap. She uses her bottom teeth to hold it in place and bends the edge, the cap popping right off. It doesn’t even take her five seconds and her face is incredibly smug.

 

Justin looks on in shock at how fast and effortless it takes her and a chorus of oooh’s erupts from Chloe and some of the other skaters. He pays up defeated.

 

That’s how it starts. Simple bets and dares like that until they start becoming increasingly more elaborate and dumb as the night goes on. Ranging from shotgunning five beers in a row to eating an entire onion. You don’t really participate too much, mostly just stand around and watch as it all unfolds.

 

At one point it’s your turn to give someone a dare and you dare Chloe to do a cartwheel-turned-backflip like when you were kids, innocently enough. What you don’t account for is that she’s at least five times more intoxicated than you (even if she is good at hiding it). You thought she’d go outside to do it on the sand, or at least on the deck. Instead she goes to the other side of the hallway, putting down her drink and rubbing her hands together as she bends forwards.

 

Now, sure, there might have been enough space in the room to do a backflip (in her drunken mind at the least.) What she hadn't considered, being significantly alcohol impaired, was that the space she had calculated would be enough to jump in after running out of the hallway, was bisected by the glass sliding door. In front of said door was an expensive Prescott lamp. Never mind that the room was rather crowded, because you guess she figured people would just stand aside for this obvious show she was about to put on.

  
Misses smarter-when-drunk proceeds to do her cartwheel, then starts on her backflip, slamming right into the door and taking the family heirloom lamp down with her. She looks up from her spot on the floor with a small bruise starting to form on her forehead and gives you a thumbs up, the stand of the lamp completely broken in half. All of you can’t help but laugh.

 

Maybe the dare’s were just an elaborate way for Chloe to start fucking shit up at the party, you don’t know, but what you do know is the dares start to become incredibly more destructive to private property after that.

 

Now you know what she meant when she said you guys were going to ‘thrash’ the place.

 

As disastrous as all this might be, you kind of regret not taking your camera. Between the bonfire in the distance (which is beautiful from the deck you might add) and Chloe’s stupidly content face at the mess she just made, there are a lot of good shots. You didn’t think you’d actually enjoy the party this much after arriving here, but maybe it’s just the company you keep.

 

After watching Justin loose another twenty dollars to Trevor as he successfully does a kickflip off the stairs and dents a hole in the wall, you realize your groups little tirade can’t possibly last for much longer as you hear a shrill voice descending from the second floor.

 

“Courtney!” Victoria bellows as she walks from the bottom of the staircase and into the kitchen where Courtney is leaning over the counter top, obviously nauseous. You’re standing just out of her field of vision but close enough to hear exactly what she’s saying over the music.

 

“What the _hell_ are Amber and Price doing in here?”

 

Courtney has her head in her hands and a drink next to her and groans, “I don’t know I’m on break.”

 

“Oh I’m sorry I guess you didn’t hear me. I just asked you what the hell are Amber and Price doing  in here.” she repeats, emphasizing the last sentence.

 

Before she can say anything more to Victoria she drops her head down onto the counter in a drunken stupor, not able to continue.

 

“Useless..” she grumbles and turns to walk into the living room where Chloe and Rachel are making out on the couch, to confront them. As she does, she catches sight of you leaning against the wall with your cup in hand.

 

“Oh great you’re here too.” she remarks with sarcasm lacing her words, “I’ll admit I didn’t think you had it in you to crash a party, Max.”

 

“Well I don’t always have to take the high ground, Victoria.” you bite back.

 

Yeah, this liquid courage just completely erased your filter.

 

“And I’m guessing that means you told your idiot friends about what happened earlier, didn’t you?” she leans back, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes to look at you. She studies your face for a lie.

  
  
“No, I didn’t.”

  
  
“Or really?” she quips, not buying it.

  
  
“Yeah because I’m not a fucking asshole, unlike some people.” you say with a slight slur, obviously implying the asshole to be her. Surprise flashes across her features at your retort and quickly changes to anger mixed with confusion.

 

“Are you drunk?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Oh my god you are drunk.” she realizes in shock at the smell of your breath.

 

She whirls around on her heel, hands up and not wanting to deal with you. Sober you would have left it be and been grateful she left you before the conversation turned ugly, but drunk you doesn’t care about that. Drunk you steps forward and snatches the elbow of her sleeve to spin her back around to face you.

 

“What are yo-” but this time you cut her off with your own rude taunts.

 

“You know you’d be a lot nicer if you actually talked to people like a normal human being instead of treating everyone like your personal puppets. Just because there’s something wrong with you doesn’t mean you have to act like there’s something wrong with everyone else.” Your head is throbbing but it’s not from the alcohol. Despite better judgement you continue on your rant through seething teeth, “Hell, you’re not even a bad person to be around you just don’t know how to talk to people.”

 

She scoffs forcibly smacking your hand away from her sleeve. “This coming from the shy hipster bitch who doesn’t even know more than two people here. Give me a fucking break, stop trying to act like you’re sooo superior because you can fake caring about people. You don’t know a fucking thing about me.”

 

“I do care. If I didn’t I would’ve told someone about your arms.”

 

She lets out a harshly fake laugh.

 

“Oh that’s real cute. What do you want me to do, get down on my knees and _thank you_? You’ve got some fucking balls Max. I might not be the nicest person in the world but that doesn’t mean I don’t care either. I just don’t care about you.” she pushes you away and goes back towards the staircase, forgoing confronting Rachel and Chloe.

 

“Take your friends and get the fuck out of my party before I do it myself.” she shouts, disappearing back to second floor.

 

When you go to the living room to tell Chloe and Rachel that you guys have to leave, they’re nowhere to be found. You look around the room to try to catch sight of them but you can’t find either anywhere. You stand there looking for about three minutes wondering if they overheard and left you before Rachel’s head peers through the frame of the glass door from the outside.

 

“There you are Max. Come on we have a dare for you.”

 

She grabs your hand and drags you out to a corner of the deck facing the bonfire where Chloe is knelt on the ground, fiddling with a bottle and some rags.

 

You feel bad that you have to be the bearer of bad news and end their fun so shortly.

 

“Victoria said we have to leave.”

 

“Max,” Chloe says through a mouth full of cloth as she tapes it to the bottle, “It’s called crashing for a reason. You don’t just leave when the host tells you to get out.”

 

She hands you the glass bottle with a grin and gets up from the floor.

 

“You go out with a fucking bang.”

 

You study the bottle, not registering immediately what she gave you. Then it’s clicks.

 

“Whoa, where the hell did you learn how to make molotov’s?” you ask almost dropping it in surprise.

 

“Step-douche has like, a dozen DIY weapon books in his arsenal. ‘Makes me read up on them so I can be prepared for the apocalypse .” she replies like it’s the most obvious explanation in the world.

 

She gently pushes you toward the railing of the deck and gestures in a vague direction with her head to the dimming flames, “Go for the pit.”

 

“Chloe this is so dangerous. Also why am I the one doing this dare?”

 

“Cause you're the least drunk and you got the best arm out of the three of us.” she explains and points out to the beach, “Now aim for the bonfire and light some shit up before Chase calls her dudebros on us.”

 

You look out to the area where she’s pointing. There’s not many people left by the dying fire, most of them having gone into the house or around it and anyone left standing on the beach aren’t close enough to get burned if you threw it.

 

“And after this we can go home, right?” you make sure.

 

“Yeah totally. Just throw the thing.”

 

You concede and pull your arm back. Like they said, indirect revenge.

 

(Even if this does seem like a terrible idea.) _Fuck it._ And you throw.

 

Now like Chloe and the backflip, you don’t account for your drunken state very well, despite being the most sober.

 

And like said dare you don’t notice your surroundings.

 

The house is leveled on an incline, the deck stationed significantly above most of the ground with large steps reaching down to the boardwalk. There’s a flat roofed garage with a generator on it’s top, leveled in front of the side of the deck you’re facing the bonfire from.

 

So when Chloe goes to light the molotov with her lighter and you proceed to throw it towards the beach, it does less of actually leaving your hands and more of limply flailing onto the garage roof below, barely gaining any distance, and breaking against the generator in a fit of flames.

It takes two minutes for someone to call the fire department as it starts to catch fire.

 

 _Whoops_.

 

...

 

You’ve had one hour of sobering up to properly regret all the mistakes you made this night.

 

Before the fire department arrived the police came up first, dispersing the party. Technically what you did was arson but there was no way the cops could have figured out who did it amongst the chaos of teens and young adults. Except, well, they did.

 

They started questioning some of the underage drinkers they were arresting, one of them being Justin.

 

“Oh yeeah I know who did it,” he had slurred from the cop car, completely wrecked and lacking any common sense whatsoever, “It was that chick Max Caulfield. Saw her come in to thrash with these two girls and totally gave that bottle a wicked fuckin’ throw off the edge. Shoulda seen it maaaan.”

 

You lean back against the police station lobby chair.

 

They couldn’t keep you in holding for too long considering no one had ample proof that it was you who set off the fire, only having the word of a high and drunken high schooler to go on. You lied of course when they put you into questioning, but they seemed to have let almost everyone they arrested tonight go. The police in this town really are incompetent.

 

It’s about two am and you’re waiting for Chloe to pick you up from the station. Her and Rachel managed to make it out ok but the cops towed her car for illegally blocking the road. They went down to pick it up and pay the fine while you were in holding, but it’s taking a lot longer than expected. Rachel gives you updates on how it’s going through text.

 

There aren’t many others waiting in the lobby and most of the people waiting are either passed out on a set of chairs or avoiding eye contact with anyone else through their phones, so there's not much for conversation. The policemen seem to be coming in and out of a single room down the hall. What you don’t expect however, is to see a handcuffed Nathan Prescott come out of that same room followed by fifteen other cops not five minutes later.

 

No wonder all the officers seemed to be preoccupied with something else.

 

“Get off! Get off of me! You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing!” he struggles against their grasp, his screams echoing throughout the building. They lead him out of the hallway, past the lobby and through a door connecting to where the temporary cells are.

 

You hear the sound of a raging sports car stop in front of the station and very soon a livid Sean Prescott slams open the door, storming in and demanding the woman at the front desk to let him into the back.

 

“What do you mean I can’t see my son?! Who authorized this?” he demands pounding his fist down on the counter.

 

“With all due respect sir, your son was found driving under the influence with over 300 grams of cocaine in the backseat of his car along with other narcotics. I can dial in the police chief if you want to discuss his pending. ”

 

“Oh I’ll be speaking to the police chief.” he belts.

 

He passes by your chair as he forcibly leaves the lobby to the chief’s office, and ignores the secretary’s insistence that he can’t go in that way. There’s an extraordinary amount of entitlement to his walk, more so than any rich kid you have ever seen at Blackwell.

 

You can see where Nathan gets it from.

 

When he leaves into the office another door creaks open and Victoria steps out of her holding room to sit in the lobby as well, eyes cast down. You contemplate saying something to her but think better of. She goes to sit in a chair on the opposite side behind you and doesn’t even give you a glance of acknowledgement. Something about that stings.

 

You want to apologize for drunkenly bashing her and basically ruining her party, but you don’t think she’d accept it. It’s late and you just want to go back to your dorm and forget this night ever happened.

 

Another fifteen minutes pass.

 

As it reaches the sixteenth you can hear Sean Prescott exit the chief’s office, almost with a finality. You don’t want to direct your gaze to where you know he’ll come out from, something about his stature filling you with dread.

 

His heavy boots resound throughout the station and stop next to you.

 

“Max Caulfield?” he inquires from behind.

 

You turn to face him, his booming voice shaking you to your core but you try not to show it.

 

“Yes?”

 

“So you’re the girl,” he notes, nostrils flaring and boring into your eyes. “Do you realize what your little stunt just cost me?”

 

You gulp and don’t trust you voice to speak properly so you just shake your head, looking up at him.

 

“My son is facing the possibility of a forty year sentence that I have to rectify and over two hundred thousand dollars worth in damages, because you and your friends decided to come to his party, uninvited, illegally blocking _my_ driveway, and set fire to _my_ garage. The police may not believe you were responsible for the fire, but if you think for a second that I’m going to let you off because you’re a high schooler, you’re wrong. You can say goodbye to your scholarship and your credibility because this is the last-.”

 

“Mr. Prescott.” Victoria interrupts.

 

You whirr your head around at the sound of her voice. Wide eyed and clearly startled by the fact that she’s interceding for you, something you'd never thought that you'd live to see.

 

Something tells you that if the person interrupting him was anyone other than Victoria, he would have been completely apoplectic. Instead he merely turns to meet her gaze, his face still set hard but with a not-as-furious frown in her direction.

 

“I’m a bit busy at the moment, what is it Victoria?” he spats

 

“It was my fault - uninviting her, that is.” she swallows, “I don’t know what the police said from what I told them, but Nathan had nothing to do with it and I shouldn’t have banned her when I knew she’d freak out like this. I can also guarantee you that the fire was more than just her fault.”

 

He raises his right brow, not entirely convinced by her statements.

 

“You know how drunk teenagers can be,” she tries to persuade through a false smile and lighthearted shrug, “If you have to blame anyone, blame me for not keeping closer tabs on the bonfire.”

 

Her eyes are clenched shut as she says those words, _blame me_. And it’s one of the hardest things she’s ever done, but right now to her, it seems like the only decision to make.

 

Sean doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, jaw set in a hard line. If you thought your heart was racing from his previous tirade, then it must be moving at the speed of light as you wait for his response to Victoria’s half-truths.

 

You wonder how she can look so calm in the face of of such a dominating person.

 

Eventually he returns a response, his face betraying no emotion.

 

“As the soulmate to my son I expected more from you. I’ll be contacting your father about the expenses. Don’t let it happen again.”

 

He leaves the building and goes to his car with a loud bang as he slams the door. When he drives away from the station’s parking lot and back onto the road you let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding in for so long. You fully turn around to face her.

 

“Why did you do that for me?” you breathe, everything spinning.

 

She stares at you, some expression gone from her eyes, but it’s not like it’s vacant, more like it’s masked. If you knew Victoria better, you’d know that the facade she’s wearing right now is the same one she wears when she knows she’s about to collapse.

 

But like she said, you barely know her at all and to you it looks like mere indifference.

 

“Because I wanted to.” she responds almost like it’s plain to see.

 

“And don’t give me that look,” she mumbles “Believe me I was tempted to let him chew you out but I’m not that heartless that I would let you ruin your entire scholarship on one stupid drunken mistake.”

 

You scratch your neck and avert your eyes from hers, the leg of the chair suddenly becoming interesting in the world. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

 

“Oh you’re going to thank me, in more ways than one.”

 

The sudden change in her demeanor takes you aback and you crease your brows. How is it possible for one person to hit you so many times out of left field.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean you’re going to pay me back for this whether you like it or not. I might have gotten Sean off your back but don’t think you’re off the fucking hook with me because now he’s breathing down mine. You’re going to compensate for this on _my_ terms, not his, or you can forget about my help altogether.”

 

You think you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, notifying you that Rachel and Chloe are waiting outside, but you can't shake the feeling of anything other than Victoria's eyes piercing yours.

 

You heart hammers in your chest.

 

(From a fire and into a frying pan.)

 

You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.


End file.
